


Everyone has a Bad Day at Work Sometimes.

by Cards_Slash



Series: Arabian Stallions [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M, Sex, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/pseuds/Cards_Slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Malik has a bad day at work, Altair introduces his cousin Ezio, football games are lost and the giant tub in the guest room is used for sex purposes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone has a Bad Day at Work Sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> i couldn't help myself. i live for sequels.

The text read ‘appointment ran late, can I use your shower’. Altair had been stuck in the chip aisle trying to remember what kind of dip Ezio preferred and working out whether or not he wanted to try to make real food or just stick to the kind of stuff you could put on a tray and eat with your hands. (Thinking about how he’d always left these kinds of decisions up to his wife before and couldn’t remember how they turned out.) 

‘Sure. Ranch or French Onion?’

Malik had taken a full minute to reply and it only said, ‘salsa, duh.’

Altair grabbed the salsa with a stupid grin on his face and went to find the stuff to make tacos. 

\--

Then there was Malik still knocking at his front door to be let in, looking disgusted by the world around him with a black bag hanging off his shoulder. He was stuffing his keys into the side pocket of the bag and unrolling a pack of mints to shove six of them into his mouth at the same time.

“Bad date?” Altair said.

Malik mumbled something around a mouthful of mints that couldn’t possibly have been English (or Arabic, or any other language, really) as he stepped inside. He was wearing his all-black-sex-clothes that clung to his body to make him look sinfully good. Altair took a moment to appreciate his ass in the pants while Malik bit the mints in his mouth to small enough pieces to swallow. “Don’t get me started,” was what he said when he could talk. “Which bathroom can I use?”

“Mine,” Altair said. “Are you sure you should eat—oh, ok, why not eat the paper too?” Malik unwrapped another six of the mints and shoved them into his mouth before he put the last few of them into the same pocket as his keys. Altair followed him up the stairs to his room and watched Malik drop the bag on the floor and crouch down to dig out a plastic bag with a tooth brush and tooth paste that he dropped the sink in the bathroom.

Malik stripped his shirt off and threw it on the bag before he tore open the bag and started brushing his teeth like he was trying to tear his cheeks to pieces. “Can I use your mouthwash?”

“I could get you some bleach if you think it’d work better,” Altair said. “I might regret asking this but what in the hell happened?” (They were still new at this. Still trying to figure out where the lines were, whether or not Malik could talk about his job without causing problems, whether or not he even wanted to talk about it.) 

“Big, hairy, sweaty balls happened,” Malik said. He was pulling his belt open, tooth brush still stuck in his mouth. “Like—most people understand that if you’re going to call someone for sex you should have the common decency to make sure you’re clean when they get there. Like it’s common fucking courtesy. But this asshole smelled like bacon grease and pit stains.” Malik took a moment to viciously scrub his mouth more. Then leaned against the sink to get his shoes and socks off. “The more layers he peeled off the worse it smelled—I’m pretty sure that there’s no fucking way to work ‘care for an erotic sponge bath’ into conversation without sounding like an asshole. Jesus fuck,” Malik said. He got more toothpaste and dug into the bag for soap and started scrubbing his face. “His balls smelled like six day old bologna. And the _hair_. The fucking hair on his balls was longer than the hair on his head. They were like—tentacles! I think some of it actually attacked me.” Malik rinsed his face and his toothbrush and kicked his pants off. 

“Did you figure out how to give him a sponge bath before you touched him?” Altair asked. “I’m just curious because I may never have sex with you again.” 

“Oh, I washed his dick. I’ve got a policy about not sticking things in my mouth that look like they came out of the grease trap in a bathroom sink. But the _smell_. Stop smiling at me.” Malik must have finally looked at him. He looked like a wet cat, all bristly and furious. 

“No, I’m sorry. It sounds unbelievable.” Altair tried to stop smiling but the stupid grin wouldn’t leave his face. Malik just looked so stupidly comical with his frown and his scrubbed-pink face and water dripping off the hair on his chin. 

“Could have been worse,” Malik said.

“Worse than having to blow his boloney dick?” Altair asked. 

“I’m going to puke on you. You can’t even understand how hard it was—and amazingly the fucker didn’t go off as soon as he was touched by another living thing. He took his sweet fucking time about it. Him and his stupid tiny dick. It was like this big,” (like three whole inches), “so it wasn’t like I could escape, no it was face fucking first into his ridiculous balls the whole time. I had to recite multiplication tables to keep from gagging. I felt like Kadar trying to give head to a woman!” 

Altair didn’t laugh. He tried very hard to look sympathetic. 

“Oh, get away from me. You’ve been gay for like six minutes and I’m hot as fuck so you have no idea how hard it is to pretend to find someone who obviously doesn't care about themselves hot.” He stuffed his tooth brush back into the bag with the toothpaste and threw it into the bag. 

Altair moved close enough to put his arms around Malik while the man turned his head away from him and crossed his arms over his chest in protest. “I’m sorry you had a bad day at work,” he said. He kissed Malik’s bare shoulder (because he was fairly certain it was safe.) “After my cousin leaves I’ll help you forget all about tiny lunch meat dicks.”

“I don’t know how you could possibly do that,” Malik said. 

Altair kiss his neck, let his hand slide down Malik’s chest and over his belly to the waist band of his boxer-briefs. “You don’t have any ideas?” He nipped at the quickening-pulse in Malik’s throat as his fingers worked under the elastic, “not even one? You’re usually so full of ideas. Remember that time you held my hands down while you fucked me?” He let his voice get low and deep, switched from English to Arabic, “remember how you said you were going to come all over me when you were done and if I was very good you’d—”

Malik groaned, dropped one of his hands down to press against Altair’s hand cupped over his dick and wiggled enough to get the other around his back to drag him up into a kiss. His mouth tasted like fresh-mint with a tinge of blood. 

“You felt so good. You always feel so good when you’re fucking me,” Altair whispered to him. Malik pressed his forehead against Altair’s shoulder with a wordless-needy little gasp. Then he pulled back, tugged his hand free and said (in English), “but if you’re sure there’s nothing I can do.” 

“I hate you,” Malik informed him.

“I’ve got to finish cooking. Enjoy your shower.”

\--

Malik reappeared wearing jeans and a T-shirt, looking still damp but nothing at all like the furious wet cat he’d been before. “Who am I meeting again? What do I need to know about them and what did you tell them about me?”

“My cousin Ezio. He’s Italian, he takes football very seriously and you should never, not ever, call it soccer unless you enjoy being shouted at in Italian. Other than his insane obsession with football and his tendency to talk in Italian without notice, he’s good. I told him that we’re dating, that your name is Malik and that you’re so incredible at sex you turned me gay.”

Malik choked on the chip he was eating and after hacking away for a minute accepted the glass of water he was offered and drank it all without pause. “Did you really tell him the last part?”

“Yes. Not in so many words but when I told Ezio I was dating a guy he was shocked, so I said you were really hot and the sex was incredible.” Altair dumped the meat for the tacos into a bowl and put the lid on it before he set it on the table next to the other bowls. “I don’t think I’ve mentioned anything else.”

“So you didn’t tell him what my job was?” Malik asked. 

“Nope,” Altair said. “Should I have? I wasn’t sure what I should say because I hadn’t asked you about it. Not that he cares what you do for a living, I’ve known him most of my life and I don’t even know what Ezio does for a living. I think it might have to do with banking? I honestly don’t know. What do you want me to tell him if he asks?” 

Malik kissed him so hard he tripped over his own feet and landed against the wall by the table. Shock left his body tense but his mouth slack and for a moment-too-long he was struck dumb and still before his body and brain caught up to one another. “I’m so glad you called back,” Malik said to him before he kissed him again. 

“See if you’re still saying that when Ezio starts jumping up and down shouting at the TV.” 

\--

Ezio came, announced that Malik was ‘hot enough’ (which was his version of approval), screamed obscenities at the TV while the team he was rooting for failed repeatedly, ate over half of the food and then sat in a glowering stupor while the post-game show played. When he shook himself out of his bitter hatred for the sports announcers, he got to his feet, insisted on washing dishes and then announced he had to go.

“Sorry your team lost,” Altair said when Ezio was leaving.

“Are you talking about the heterosexual team or the team of miserable little girls that just lost to a team of rodent-minded ingrates that can’t even run without falling over?” Ezio asked. He managed to grin while he said it like he was so-very-funny.

“Well, both?”

Ezio clapped him on the shoulders in a way that always made it seem like Altair should be shorter than him. (Truthfully he’d taken to slouching around Ezio, if only because the man’s personality made it seem like he should have been six-or-seven inches taller than he actually was.) “Better you than I, cousin,” is what Ezio said to him. 

Altair felt that punching him (in a friendly way) was a perfectly rational reaction. 

\--

Malik was sitting in the living room when he came back in from seeing Ezio off. He’d managed to be dragged into helping Desmond at the bar and couldn’t exactly figure out how. Altair flopped back onto the couch next to Malik and put his feet up on the coffee table. Malik shifted on the cushion next to him but otherwise didn’t look away from his phone. 

The truth was, they very often did not get together on days Malik took ‘dates’ because even though Altair insisted he didn’t care (and he honestly did not think he did), Malik insisted it was a bad idea. It was better-or-easier to just meet up when they had the simultaneous free time and communicate through embarrassingly long and exceedingly corny text-messages. The once-or-twice they had met up, Altair had been left with a strange feeling of not knowing what to expect.

“So Kadar is really gay?” Altair asked. He started unbuttoning his shirt because Ezio was gone and there really was no reason to go on pretending he was respectable. (One simply never saw Ezio ‘dressed down’ because Ezio was either naked or impeccably dressed. He had no in-between state. It made it very difficult to wear lazy clothes around him.) 

“Kadar is the gayest little snowflake ever born,” Malik said distractedly. He was scrolling through something on his phone that Altair couldn’t see (not that he was trying) before he heaved a sigh and looked over at him. “Are we doing something tomorrow?”

“I don’t think we have plans.” They didn’t really make plans, just threw out times that were good for them and hoped they matched up. Very rarely did they even make it out of Altair’s house. 

Malik sneered at the phone and scrolled back up to the top before thumb-typing a reply to something. When he was finished he leaned forward and dropped the phone on the table. “Why did you ask about my brother?” Malik asked. He looked down at Altair’s hands undoing the buttons of his shirt with a raised eyebrow of interest. “I hate your stupid button down shirts.”

“That must be why you’re always trying to rip them off,” Altair said. He sat up enough to shirt back off his shoulders and peeled it off his arms before throwing it toward the end of the couch. 

“They offend me,” Malik said. He shifted his weight, easily moving to put one leg across Altair’s so that he could sit in his lap. “Don’t you have a desk job?” His thumbs were cool but not cold when they pressed against his belly button and started tracing up over the outline of his muscles. “Why the hell are you so ripped?” 

“The boring desk job is just my cover. I’m actually a secret agent.” He was working his hands up under Malik’s shirt, feeling the glorious warmth of his smooth-olive skin and the delicious solidness of the muscles just under. “What about you?”

Malik pulled his own shirt off over his head and dropped it to the side. “I played soccer in high school and I was on the swim team.” His hands dropped back to Altair’s skin like they were magnetized to it. His fingers were cool-and-ticklish tracing the outside edges of his stomach all the way down to his waistband-and-belt. “I hate your belt too.”

Altair loved the length of Malik’s neck, liked the dip at the center of his collarbone, loved the width of his body—loved the strength of his shoulders and the way the muscles moved under skin as his arms moved. He wasn’t bulky but still strong, and so fucking smooth everywhere Altair touched him. “Do you shave?”

Malik laughed at him, “no I’m naturally hairless.” His weight was resting against Altair’s thighs, his hands were still against his belly while he let himself to be touched. “I got in the habit when I was on the swim team. One day I’ll let it grow out and you can properly amazed at my masculine hairiness.” 

Oh-and-the smirk on his face when he said it. The fond way his body was tipped just slightly to one side as he looked down at him. His thighs were opening wider so he could slip down lower, so he was sitting right over Altair’s dick with the most innocent look in the world on his face. 

Altair rubbed his hand across the smoothness of Malik’s chest, tried to imagine it covered in hair—had to be the deep-black of the messy peaks of hair on his head. And thick like it was angry at being shaved away for so long. He felt his face getting hot and the impatient tightening low in his gut as he scratched the pads of his fingertips down Malik’s chest and then around his back. Altair sat up enough to press his mouth against the hairless skin, let his breath tickle against it when Malik caught his shoulders in surprise and then sucked at the damp spot he left. Just enough to make it pink and hot but not so much it left a mark. He left a trail of kisses across his collarbone, let his hands rest idly on Malik’s thighs, squeezing now and again (frustrated at the stupid jeans in his way) as he found new places to press his tongue and teeth.

“Come here,” Malik said. His hands were on Altair’s face, cupped under his jaw when he guided him upward. His mouth was wet-and-warm when they kissed, his breath a rushed pant through his nose. His arms were around Altair’s shoulders, they were falling back into the couch in a graceless heap. The TV was still droning on about sports they had no intention of watching, detailing (again) the crushing loss Ezio’s team had just suffered. Malik pulled away to smile at him, run his rough thumb across Altair’s lower lip. He said, “I really liked meeting your cousin.”

“Yeah?”

Malik nodded his head. He kissed him again, just a quick-touch of lips before he was pushing himself up and off. 

Altair tried very hard not to call him names as his hand was grabbed and he was pulled up to standing. For all that they had made out like horny teenagers in every room in his house—and once came very close to exchanging blow jobs in the kitchen—Malik was incredibly insistent that all sex take place in a bedroom. “Can we fuck on the couch for my birthday?” Altair whined as he was pulled up the stairs.

Malik snorted at that. “You are such a true romantic.”

Altair pushed him against the wall at the top of the stairs, crowded close to his body and smiling at Malik’s dirty little frown. His hands were pulling at Malik’s pants button while his presence and eagerness was tolerated with a level glare. They were getting-better at knowing-each-other but there were blank-spaces and gaps in the things they knew (of course) that they were still even discovering. Altair was on-fire with lust seven days out of the week, constantly hungry for something it felt like years since he’d had in such abundance. Most days Malik could match-and-beat him and then once in a while the things they wanted just didn’t match up. So he stuck his lower lip out in a pout to mock Malik’s and then tipped his head down to kiss him on the tip of his nose. 

“Come on,” he said with his hand still curled tight around Malik’s jeans. 

“Your impersonation of a caveman is spot on,” Malik said as he dragged his feet behind him. 

Altair pulled him down the hall to the guest bathroom that was rarely-ever, almost-never used in all the time since he’d bought the house. There were two whole bedrooms that stood empty and gathered dust, and couched comfortably between them was the bathroom with the unnecessarily large tub. It seemed like the sort of thing that a person would have put in their own private bathroom but the real estate lady that sold him the house explained that the previous owner had put in the tub at the request of his sister-in-law. (A wise man keeps his wife and her live-in sister quite happy.)

“This was not where I thought you were going,” Malik said Altair let him go in the middle of the bathroom. It was larger, newer and much nicer than the one that was crammed into a spare corner of Altair’s bedroom. Malik was looking around the room with the same aw that his ex-wife had eyed it on the second walk-through. 

“I thought, you know what sounds really nice right now?” Altair turned the water on and opened the thin built in closet to dig out the least offensively floral bubble bath he could find. 

“Don’t,” Malik said.

“An erotic sponge bath.” Altair was laughing when Malik shoved him into the tub with his foot. The whole seat of his pants was already soaked so he just scooted his body further into the tub, tugged his pants off as the water sloshed around and threw them toward the double-sinks. He missed and the pants ended up in a slop on the floor but he thought he got points for effort. 

“I don’t know why I put up with you.” But Malik was stripping his jeans off anyway, folding them over twice and setting them on the toilet out of the growing puddle of water coming out of Altair’s pants. He stepped into the tub and after a moment of hesitation turned around to sit between Altair’s legs and leaned back against him. The water was barely up over their legs but the bubbles were a great foaming mass above it. 

Altair shifted a little and then reached down to cup the warm water in his hands and brought it up to spill down Malik’s chest. He followed it down, running his thumb through the bubbles as they sluiced down his body. “Because I have good books.”

Malik let out a breath at that and relaxed against him, resting one his hands on Altair’s thighs and the other against his own body. For a long moment he just rested there, stretched out and slowly-uncoiling until he shuddered out another breath and rested his head back against Altair’s head. The water was up to their ribs now, sloshing dangerously against the top of the tub.

Altair stretched his foot out to turn the taps off while Malik laid heavy and stubbornly limp against him without helping. When the water was off, the room was eerily quiet, with nothing but the sound of their breathing and the little gray swirls of steam coming off the water. “Hey,” he said (very quietly), “I got roped into helping my cousin Desmond restock his bar next Saturday. If you’ve got the day off, you can meet another of my cousins and Ezio has even graciously agreed to provide food.”

“Is he cooking it?” Malik asked.

“According to him, he cooks it but according to everyone else, it tastes much more like he convinced his mother to do it for him. It’s very authentic Italian.” He was drawing nonsense designs in the bubbles stuck to Malik’s skin, circles and curls and little stars that were deformed as soon as he moved his fingers away. 

“I’m not working Saturday,” Malik said. He put his hand over Altair’s and pushed it down below the water. The bubbles were too thick to see through, they barely even moved when the water did. Malik pressed their hands against the inside of his thigh, dragging Altair’s hand down and up until he dropped his other hand under the water to do the same on the opposite side. Malik let out a pleased little mumbled as he bent his knees and opened them wider to give him more room. “Can you imagine having so little hope of ever being touched that you stop caring?” 

“I really thought I had some idea before I met you,” Altair said. He gripped his hands tighter around Malik’s thighs when he moved them down again and smiled into the damp-hair at the top of his head when Malik rocked his hips up. “But I think I was wrong, I was lonely but not hopeless.”

“I love your hands,” Malik said like he didn’t even mean to say it. His fist was still loose around Altair’s wrist, his body was rocking up against the easy rhythm of Altair’s hands on his thighs. The bubbles rose and fell with the motion of his hips, getting ever-so-slightly taller and then shorter. Malik rolled over, elbow against the edge of the tub and body moving fluidly under the water, knees hitting the bottom of the tub with dull thuds. Bubbles stuck and then ran down his body when he put one of his hands against the narrow ledge behind Altair’s head and leaned over him. “Put your hands on me.” 

Altair started high, up on Malik’s ribs, rubbing the flat of his palm down his sides, feeling the bumps of his ribs through his skin. Up-and-around to his back, the strength of his shoulders as held himself up over him, the thick bone of his shoulder blades, the path of his spine leading to the curve of his back just above his ass. In the front his splayed fingers ran down his chest, catching the runny bubbles over his nipples and down his belly where they were falling in long white drops back into the water between them.

Malik was watching him, face gone pink from the heat of the water and the hair damp from sweat-and-steam. He scooted forward, put first one-then-the-other of his knees over Altair’s thighs until he was straddling his chest. 

Altair put his hands on Malik’s hips and then back, tightened his fingers into the meat of his ass and grinned up at the wrecked and whimpering sound of Malik’s moan. He squeezed his hands again, pulled the cheeks of his ass apart and dragged his hips far enough forward that the eager tip of his dick brushed against his cheek. Malik’s eyes were half-closed but he was still watching him, staring at the way Altair’s lips were parted. He squeezed his hands again, inching one down far enough to press the blunt end of his ring finger against Malik’s hole. Altair opened his mouth when Malik rocked his hips forward again, licked at the air to try to catch the head of his dick and missed.

“Want something?” Malik mumbled at him. His voice sounded deeper when he spoke in Arabic. His thumb was wet when it ran across Altair’s lower lip and pressed inside his mouth. He tasted like bubbles and soap and still-warm water. Altair sucked on his thumb, scrapped his teeth across the knuckle and tried to hold it in place as Malik moved his hand away with a surprised little moan. 

“I want whatever you want to give me,” Altair said back. He didn’t have the natural accent that Malik did, hadn’t ever managed to pick up on it from his father’s side of the family. He was depressingly American in his pronunciation but Malik still groaned like it was so-fucking-hot. “Want me to suck your dick?” He rubbed his fingertip against Malik’s hole again and slid the other hand around to curl around his dick. “Look at your perfect dick, it’s so long and fat—” Altair leaned forward to trace his tongue around the head of it, stroked his hand all slow-and-lazy.

Malik’s head tipped back, body trembling as Altair licked the length of his dick again-and-again without putting his mouth around him. When Malik threaded his fingers through his hair they were wet-and-soapy. Altair pulled him closer by the thighs so he was straddling his chest and his perfect dick was right there, close enough to rub his cheek against, close enough to run his tongue from root to tip. Malik’s hand was around his own dick, pressing it against his mouth as he mumbled something over him that sounded like a command. But there was sloshing water and blood in his ears and he couldn’t understand anything but the way Malik rubbed the head of his dick against his lips. 

He wasn’t an expert, wasn’t even necessarily _good_ at giving head (yet) but he liked the way Malik’s dick felt in his mouth, liked the weight and width of it against his tongue, stretching his lips. He liked the still-hesitant (almost shy) way Malik rocked in-and-out, and the tiny-little-trembles in his thighs when Altair started sucking. He liked the taste of him, skin and salt and compulsive little sticky streaks of pre-cum against his tongue. 

“God,” Malik was mumbling when he moved back. His hands were under the water, catching Altair under the arms to pull him up. Malik was rocking forward against his body when he kissed him so hard it felt like bruises being bitten into his lips. His arms were around his back and his fingers were digging in hard enough to leave marks as he ground his dick into Altair’s belly. Altair caught him by the hips and dragged him down low enough he could rub up against his ass. (Thought of what it must feel like to be inside Malik, thought of how tight-and-hot it must be.) Malik pulled away from his mouth to nip at his jaw and his neck and shifted his persistent rocking from selfishly humping him to grinding his ass back on Altair’s dick. 

The water was sloshing over the side of the tub in time with the frantic motion of their bodies, the bubbles were going over the sides in a free-falling cascade of white as Altair pressed his mouth against Malik’s collarbone and let out mindless little sounds of want-and-need-and— The rhythm of Malik’s body changed, like he was tuning out somehow and Altair turned his head to whisper in his ear. “I want you to fuck me again, I want to feel your dick sliding into me, the way your body crashes into mine, the way your hands feel when they hold me down. I want you to fuck me until I can’t stand it, until I’m begging you. God, I just want to feel you everywhere, all over me.”

Malik kissed him again, knocked him back into the water so suddenly a great wave of it was sent over the edge and they were both soaked from the splash back and laughing. Altair wiggled until he had his legs wrapped around Malik, thighs tight and heels digging in tight. They were rutting like mindless animals in a few spare inches of water with a ridiculous height of bright-white bubbles swishing and swaying around them. “I love fucking you,” Malik said back when his voice was tight-and-thin and his hips were jerking forward against him. 

Altair groaned when Malik came on him and held onto him when he started shaking. Malik was on his elbows over him, face pressed against his neck just above the water line and hips rocking forward against his body chasing after the greedy aftershocks. Altair kissed his cheek and his temple and pushed at him until Malik was on his back in the shallow water left in the tub and Altair was on his knees over him. “You’re so hot when you’re useless putty.” He jerked himself off while Malik stuck his tongue out at him, one arm behind his head and the other lazily resting against his knee. 

(He thought, nobody sees you like this, nobody knows this smile. But they were dangerous-possessive thoughts.) 

Malik ran his thumb across the slit in the tip of his dick and Altair came all over his hand and stomach. “You’re so hot when you come like a horny teenager,” Malik said. But his voice was sleepy-and-sated. He looked down at his own come splattered body and the way the water didn’t even reach his belly anymore. “I think we may need a shower.”

\--

Cleaning up the mess in the guest bathroom took six towels, a mop and thirty minutes. By the time he’d gotten the last of the water up, Malik had fallen asleep in his bed with an open book on the pillow next to him. Altair took the book, turned off the light and kissed Malik on the cheek before he left to lock up the house.


End file.
